


In Death's Company

by LyraNgalia



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: F/M, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-09
Updated: 2012-12-09
Packaged: 2017-11-20 16:39:37
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 497
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/587507
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LyraNgalia/pseuds/LyraNgalia
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After his death, Sherlock Holmes finds himself in familiar company.</p>
            </blockquote>





	In Death's Company

**Author's Note:**

> Written for [thecaptainannie](http://thecaptainannie.tumblr.com/) over on Tumblr, who wanted post-Fall Sherlock fitting in disguise into Irene's new life in America.

No one on the Eastern Seaboard knew where she came from, but word soon spread, quiet and discreet, among the monied families about the presence of That Norton Woman. The woman for whom no secret fantasy or kink was too deviant or outrageous, the woman who knew what her clients liked and could deliver them to exactly what they wanted. The woman who, for the right price, could make scandals from those liaisons go away without a whisper.

 

The woman who, a lifetime ago, answered to the name Irene Adler, now answered to Angelica Norton and offered protection to those too clumsy to keep their own secrets.

 

She moved through high society in Connecticut and Manhattan with ease, making occasional trips to Martha's Vineyard when her clients were desperate enough to hide their indiscretions. Those who knew what she did kept their silence and treated her as one of their own, knowing that if they did not she held the power to shatter their careful social order. Those who did not know what she did thought her one of their own, some even making overtures take her to dinner, to gala events, to family parties in the Hamptons. But she refused, the Norton woman moving through the glitz and glamour alone.

 

But a month after a suicide in London whose notoriety never made it across the Atlantic, Angelica Norton appeared at an opera opening with a tall, pale man on her arm, his hair vividly red and long enough to hide a healing scar at his temple. High society buzzed, and whispers began to spread of just who the man was. Conflicting stories began to circulate, that he was Godfrey Norton, the estranged husband now returned from overseas. That he was the son of a client, fallen hopelessly in love and under some illusion that he could reform that Norton Woman from her business dealings. That he _was_ a client, one whose pocketbooks were deep enough to buy the Norton Woman's favour rather than just her services.

 

The rumours simply made the late Irene Adler laugh, and irritated the late Sherlock Holmes. “They think _anyone_ could buy themselves into _your_ good graces?” he snorted, tugging irritably at the sleeves of his tuxedo as the car pulled up to the Metropolitan Opera House. “Do any of them have a navy?”

 

Irene smirked, and swatted at his hand with a silk opera glove before slipping it back on. “The conductor tonight,” she replied. “Quite a lucrative business on the side, fencing stolen art. I expect he's the one you're looking for, the friend of our mutual friend.”

 

Sherlock gave her a sidelong look and an almost imperceptible nod. His hand no longer tugged at the sleeve of his tuxedo, and instead he offered her his arm. “So what rumour will it be tonight? Politician you've ensnared?”

 

She smiled, sharp and sinful, as he helped her out of the car. “How about penniless artist whose found his muse.”

 

He laughed.


End file.
